Merry Christmas To All,
And To All First Class Flight
by
Barbara Woods Collins
It's Christmas time again. O.K., I'm ready. Bring on the
Annual Christmas Letters! I'm talking about those
computer-generated monologues of monotonous megafeats
that fill my mailbox each Yuletide season. They are
lengthy descriptions of family achievements that threaten
to completely replace the flocked, angel-bedecked
Christmas cards that once wished me a Merry
Christmas.
I have been receiving ACL's for several years
now. I believe the practice began as an attempt to find
one more use for the early home computers that many
families bought on impulse. Filing income taxes and
inventorying the phonograph record collection just didn't
keep the PC busy enough, so the Annual Christmas
Letter was born.
These letters are stored in the computer and updated
from year to year. "Lisa got the lead in the seventh
grade play." can become "Lisa got the lead in
the eighth grade play." with the evocation of a
computer macro. At the busiest time of the year, the
updated letter can simply be printed, and the merriment
of the family's accomplishments shared by anyone with
whom the family has shared even the briefest encounter.
In order to produce a masterful ACL, a person
must be, in essence, a sadistic overachiever who gains
pleasure in reminding the rest of us of all the wonderful
things that didn't happen to us, of all the things we can
never seem to get around to doing. These compulsive
overachievers usually marry their own kind, and produce
overachieving children whose myriad accomplishments
provide the meat of the Annual Christmas Letter.
The producer of the letter (usually Mrs. Compulsive
Overachiever) keeps track of the family's accomplishments
by storing them in the computer. She probably lights a
fire under the family achievers (as well as the achiever-ettes)
if there is not enough data by June 30 to fill at least a
page. They are advised that they will get the lead
in the school play, because supporting parts do not
make copy for an Annual Christmas Letter.
What fascinates me most about the ACL is the
effect it has on me. I can enter the Christmas season
full of good will toward mankind, HoHoHo, and the urge
for creative bankruptcy that is expected at this Most
Wonderful Time of the Year. But the receipt of the first Annual
Christmas Letter sends me plunging into depression.
And I don't believe I am alone. Holiday depression is a
popular topic of discussion at Christmas time, and I
frankly don't believe that even Phil or Oprah had heard
of holiday depression until these letters began invading
our mailboxes. I believe that there is a causal
relationship here that should be given thorough
scientific study by our behavioral scientists.
There was a time when I thought about fighting fire
with fire--or feat with feat, as it were. Not that I
wanted to depress my friends the way they depressed me,
but I thought maybe joining the trend was the answer to
dealing with it. So I dusted off the old computer and I
started composing. The result went something like this:
Dear Friend,
Bob finally beat his boss on the golf course!
He expects to be employed again very soon; meanwhile,
he is enjoying General Hospital every day.
Bob, Jr. almost graduated from high school! He
says he would have passed Biology if the frog he
chose to dissect hadn't been genetically mutated. In
all fairness, could he be held responsible if the
creature had managed to survive without a heart,
lungs or a stomach? Teachers can be so unfair, can't
they? Perhaps he will graduate next year. After all,
22 is still very young.
Linda is engaged! Her fiancé tells us that
they will be married just as soon as one of them
finds a job. It will need to be soon, however, if we
are to avoid a maternity bridal gown. Her chosen is a
charming boy who hopes to move from his parents'
house to ours after the honeymoon. Ah, young love!
I am now employed! Can you believe it? With my
Ph.D. in microbiology, I was able to land a terrific
job as a file clerk in an insurance office. It is so
rewarding to know that I am putting things into file
drawers with such excellence that people will be able
to find them ten years from now. I don't know how I
managed all these years without this feeling of
fulfillment.
As you can tell, this year has been another in
what seems an endless string of eventful years. I
only hope yours proved as rewarding.
Sincerely, and with great humility,
The Underachievers
Somehow it just didn't have the effect I had hoped for.
My own letter depressed me even more than the ones I had
received. But a solution may be in sight. I'm told that
Hallmark is planning to fight the loss of Christmas card
revenue my marketing an Annual Christmas Letter
suitable for all families. By simply checking the
appropriate boxes, I will be able to report job
promotions, new and bigger houses, trips to Europe, leads
in school plays, and miscellaneous honors and awards. I,
for one, plan to care enough to send the very best! No
homemade stuff for me! This may just be the solution to
my Christmas problems. It's clear that I don't dare use
dynamite in the mailbox again. Uncle Sam frowns on that
practice.
May I wish you and yours merry promotions, glorious
victories and joyful achievements, and may the joy of
being Number One remain with you always. Amen
copyright ©1995 Barbara Woods Collins
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